Halfway Home

The white door floated above her head. The walls shifted from side to side. It was dark, not too dark to see, but too dark to see clearly. Something felt wrong. The air was heavy, like she was breathing through cloth. Voices stirred in the distance, weak and trembling.

“Mom, please.”

Lily tried to turn toward the sound, but her body felt sluggish and uncooperative. Her head ached. Her throat burned.

“Oh, Daniel,” she whispered, or thought she did. “Where are you?”

“Mom, I love you.”

Daniel. Her oldest. The one who never showed emotion. The one who kept everything locked behind that quiet stare. Her chest ached at the sound of his voice. She longed to reach him, to touch his cheek like she did when he was small, to tell him everything was going to be all right. She stretched out her hand into the dusky emptiness, but her fingers brushed only cold air.

“Mom, please come back.”

The voice was softer, shaky and small, full of fear.

“David?” she said, her heart quickening. Her youngest, her baby. The one who still crawled into her lap when thunder rolled through the night.

But there was no answer. The voices faded again, leaving only the steady hum of darkness.

She was standing now or maybe floating. It was hard to tell. The floor beneath her shifted like waves. The walls around her pulsed faintly, alive with a soft glow that came and went like breathing.

White walls, she thought suddenly, though the idea made no sense.

Then, a flicker of light.

She blinked, and the room around her melted away.

She stood in her kitchen. Morning light spilled through the window. Coffee brewed on the counter, the familiar aroma wrapping around her like comfort. The world felt still, too still, as though someone had pressed the pause button.

Her middle child, Devin, sat at the table, swinging his legs. “You okay, Mom?”

She blinked. “Of course, I am.”

He smiled. “You’ve been gone a long time.”

Her brow furrowed. “Gone where?”

He didn’t answer. The spoon in his hand hung in the air, not moving. The clock above the stove ticked once, then stopped. Silence stretched thin around her.

“Devin?”

He looked up slowly, his face flickering like a reflection in rippling water. “You need to wake up.”

Her heart stuttered. “What did you say?”

But the light shattered before he could answer.

The white door again. The hum of machines. The faint smell of antiseptic.

“Mom, can you hear me?”

Daniel’s voice, closer now.

“I’m here,” she whispered, but her lips didn’t move.

“Her eyes moved,” he said. “I swear I saw them move.”

A man’s steady voice spoke next. Her husband, Mark. “Boys, don’t get your hopes up. It’s been weeks. Remember what they told us.”

Weeks?

Lily tried to move, to scream, to let them know she wasn’t gone. But her body refused her. The beeping quickened. The air around her thickened, spinning her back into the dark.

When she opened her eyes again, she was outside.

The air was golden and still. Tall grass brushed her knees, and in the distance stood a narrow bridge arched over a river of light. On the other side, faint figures waited—blurry and glowing, their shapes shifting like smoke.

A woman’s voice called her. “Lily.”

Her heart jumped. “Mom?”

Her mother stood at the far end of the bridge, smiling the way she always remembered. “Come home,” she said.

“Home?” she stammered. “But the boys.”

“They’ll be fine,” she said softly.

Something inside her twisted. The pull toward her was powerful, like gravity. The sound of her voice wrapped around Lily like a warm blanket. She took one step forward.

But then, faintly, through the shimmering light she heard the distant voices again.

“Mom, don’t go!”

David.

The voice was raw, desperate. Lily froze. The golden light around her trembled, dimmed.

“Mom, please wake up.”

She turned toward the sound, and for an instant, she saw them—three faces pressed close together, tear-streaked and hopeful. Daniel’s hand gripping hers. Devin’s lips moving in prayer. David’s eyes wide with pleading.

They looked so real.

She took a step back from the bridge. “I can’t,” she whispered.

Her mom’s smile faltered. “You’ll only suffer there.”

“I don’t care,” she said, voice breaking. “They still need me.”

She held her mom’s gaze for a long, aching moment. “Then go,” she said finally. “Find your way home.”

The golden light shattered, and the bridge fell away beneath her feet.

She was falling through blackness, through layers of dreams and memory. A thousand moments flashed through her mind. Daniel’s first bike ride, David’s laughter echoing through the hall, Devin asleep against her chest, Mark’s hand on hers.

Then, suddenly, she was back in her house again. Only this time, everything was wrong. The windows were covered in frost. The air buzzed with a low hum that grew louder with every breath. The photographs on the walls were empty. Now there were only frames with blank spaces where faces should be.

She ran from room to room, calling their names, but her voice was swallowed by the hum. Her vision blurred.

“Please,” she begged. “Let me wake up.”

The hum became a roar.

And then—silence.

A sound pierced the stillness.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Lily’s chest rose with effort. Her eyes flickered. She saw light streaming through a window.

A hand reached for hers, trembling. “Mom?”

She turned her head slightly. Daniel’s face came into view, red rimmed and pale. Behind him, David and Devin leaned forward, their eyes wide with hope.

“Mom,” Devin whispered. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

Lily swallowed, her throat dry. The words came out rough and weak. “I heard you.”

Daniel choked out a laugh through his tears. “You did?”

She nodded slowly. “You kept calling me back.”

Her eyes drifted toward the window. Morning sunlight spilled across the hospital bed, bright and real.

David pressed his forehead against Lily’s arm. “You didn’t leave us.”

“No,” Lily whispered, her eyes filling. “I just got a little lost.”

The room was quiet except for the steady rhythm of the monitor and the quiet weeping of her children.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Lily took a deep, steady breath. The air was cool and alive in her lungs. She closed her eyes and let the light wash over her face.

She wasn’t between worlds anymore. She was home.